


Five Misses and a Hit

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, M/M, Modern Era, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22387060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: Five times Merlin and Arthur missed each other in this modern world, and one time they didn't.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 156





	Five Misses and a Hit

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this actual years ago, and having got back into the Merlin fandom recently I've dragged it out, finished it off, polished it up, and here it is. I hope it's okay.

_1\. At the Park_

Merlin has been waiting for this for _weeks_ – to get out of his little village and see the big city.

London.

He doesn’t care too much about Big Bob and all the other buildings his mum has been going on about – he wants to see the ducks. They have better ducks in London; he’s seen them on TV. They’re all different sizes and colours, and not because he accidentally turned them that way because he thought they'd be prettier in pink and orange. People go feed these fancy ducks all the time, talking about boring stuff his mum likes to listen to. There won’t be boring stuff today though, because it’s just him and mum so they can talk about cool stuff like aliens.

They’re in the park finally, away from all the horrible noisy traffic and the dark, scary tunnels of the underground. Why would anyone want to travel underground when you could go over? Isn’t that what the ground is for, to walk on? Everything is big and there are people everywhere. At home the park is just him, mum and the old man who walks his dog at the slowest speed Merlin’s ever seen. Perhaps they never leave – just trudge endless circles while they wait to go to Heaven…

“Merlin?” He looks up at his mother. “Would you like to go and play with the other boys?”

Merlin turns and sees the boys she means. They’re on the roundabout, the two biggest taking turns to spin it fast and leap on, leaning out while the three younger ones giggle, huddled in the middle. The two big boys are almost complete opposites; one shorter, with dark skin and hair and a scruffy t-shirt and shorts. The other is wearing a blue polo-shirt, blond hair all over the place. There’s room for Merlin in the middle. It looks like fun.

“Merlin?” His mother steps around him, about to lead the way over. The sun shines behind her, her face in darkness, and suddenly Merlin is back underground.

“No,” he says firmly, shaking his head and grabbing her hand. At five he’s usually too old for hand holding, but this is London. It’s big and scary and kids get kidnapped here, he heard about it from Uncle John.

Merlin tugs his mother over to the pond, but he can’t help one last look back at the roundabout.

_2\. At the Party_

He groans inwardly as he stares around at the crowd. Why does he keep saying yes to Morgana’s invites? She seems to think if he attends enough parties, he’ll suddenly learn to like them, and is remarkably good at convincing Merlin that this will happen too. For about five minutes. Until he walks in the door and remembers that he hates this kind of thing.

It’s another Saturday night and another random house, as they always are. This time it belongs to a girl on Morgana’s modern art course. The walls are splashed with colour, but whether it’s intentional or an earlier accident with red wine, he can’t be sure. He grabs a can of Coke, then mutters a little misdirection spell to secure himself a chair.

“M!” A very drunken Morgana flops down in his lap, accidentally (he hopes) jabbing an elbow into his stomach. “How’s my little Merls?”

“A bit winded,” he wheezes out. A couple fall onto the sofa next to them and begin making out. He knows Claire fairly well; she’s part of his Vegetarian and Vegan society and one of the more outspoken members, so it’s hard to miss her. He’s pretty sure that she’s not met Rob ‘The Hamburger’ Hammond before tonight.

It wouldn't be so bad if he could have a drink – at least then other people's drunken antics might be funny. But he’s got a big test next week, so he needs to use his Sunday constructively, studying. Which means staying sober Saturday.

Being responsible sucks.

“Sorry, babe,” Morgana shifts around into a more comfortable position and drapes her arms around his neck. “You having a good time?”

“I was actually going to get going -“

“Noooo!” Morgana whines like he just told her a big spoiler for her favourite TV show. He loves her, but her drunk-voice is more than a bit shrill. Luckily, Gwen has heard her screech and makes her way across the room, leaving behind a gaggle of people intently watching a tall blond boy as he chugs down three pints in quick succession. Merlin shakes his head, smiling gratefully at Gwen as she gently lifts her friend off him.

“I’m going to head off,” he says, leaning in quickly to peck Gwen’s cheek, and run a hand over Morgana’s hair. She’s going to be ill in the morning, and he kind of feels bad about leaving Gwen as babysitter, especially as he’s not had a chance to chat with her all night. She must see some of his indecision, because she gives him a quick shove towards the door.

“Go,” she says firmly. “We’ll be fine. Good luck with the test, and call me when you’re done. We’ll get coffee or something.”

Merlin wraps himself up in his coat and scarf, ready to brace the chill of a January night. The blond boy from before runs down the hallway and disappears into the bathroom.

_3\. On a Date_

It’s July, and the night of their last summer ball at university. Merlin drags himself out of bed and stares listlessly at the suit hanging in his wardrobe. It’s been ready for a week, shirt and tie all picked out and shoes brightly shined, waiting.

He's Morgana's date. She said she was too busy to find a real one – even though everyone knows she could take her pick. She’s been a little subdued lately though, worrying about final exams, then everyone splitting off, bad dreams keeping her up, so Merlin didn’t argue too hard when she said she wanted to spend this night with her friends.

In keeping with the theme, when Gwen said she hadn’t found a date yet either, Morgana quickly enlisted her half-brother. Merlin knows the two are quite close, in a bickering, feud-filled sort of way, but somehow he’s managed to avoid running in to the famous Arthur so far. He has the impression they won’t get on. Arthur sounds loud and argumentative – a perfect sparring partner for Morgana in many ways – but not someone he really wants to spend time with.

It’s beginning to look as if he won’t have to. He's been hit with a stinking cold, payback for the months of stress and eating crap, and despite spending the day in bed with a ready supply of Lemsip, he still feels sunk in a haze of fug. Even his magic is dulled, heavy and sluggish beneath his skin. Just the thought of putting the suit on is exhausting, let alone going to a dance.

Sighing, he picks up his phone.

\--

Morgana doesn’t text him for a week. When she finally shows up on his doorstep, the worst of the cold is gone but he’s still more than a bit sniffly. She stares him down while he hacks out a lung-wrenching coughing fit, then frog-marches him back to the sofa and proceeds to rant at him with stories of the night.

“Arthur was loving it of course. Not just the whole ‘woman on each arm thing’, but me being stood up. He didn’t miss a chance to remind me of it all night, I swear he was manipulating every conversation to give himself another chance to get in a dig. Such a pillock. Then I made the mistake of telling him you were a friend, so it wasn’t really being stood up, and that just made it _worse…”_

She makes him tea and stays for two hours though, so he thinks they’re okay.

_4\. On the Tube_

The tube stops suddenly in the middle of a black tunnel, and Merlin is reminded of his childhood fear. Luckily, he’s pretty much over that now. Can’t live in London for five years and still be afraid of the Underground.

“ _Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologise for the delay. This is caused by a signal failure at Aldgate. We will have you moving again as soon as possible.”_

Perfect. The one day when he’s finished his book and his iPod has run out of battery. He could use his magic for the odd minor prank, but in an enclosed space – there's always the worry, the need to keep it hidden.

He sighs. He knows how long a signal delay can last – maybe he’ll just become that crazy guy on the tube that tries to strike up a conversation with everybody. Instead, he reads all the adverts three times each and memorises the phone number of a nearby dental clinic. Finally out of options, Merlin tries to stare at people without them noticing.

The woman opposite is an easy target. She’s absorbed in her phone, red curly hair falling forward and obscuring her face. What’s she doing on that thing? Perhaps she’s texting a lover. Some guy that she met the other night at a club. Of course, she doesn’t know that the guy is actually the ex-boyfriend of her room-mate, and when she gets home she’ll be greeted with a glass of wine in the face…

Or the old guy sitting a couple of seats down on his side; Merlin watches his reflection in the dark glass opposite. He’s just sitting, eyes closed and head down. He looks tired, and not just in an ‘up all night’ sort of way, but more of a ‘I’ve had enough of life’ manner. Perhaps he’s riding the tube because he has nowhere else to go. You sometimes get bums on the tube – buy a day ticket and you can ride around all day and evening – a warm place to sit with the occasional left-behind half cup of coffee.

Looking at the old man is making Merlin feel sad. Instead, he shifts his gaze through the glass on his left to the next lot of seats. There’s a blond man about his age in the seat nearest; he’s got a magazine on his lap but his eyes are scanning the drawing of the tube line up on the wall opposite, and his fingers are drumming restlessly. He must be late for something. Either that, or wired on caffeine, as his leg starts up shaking.

He’s got an open sort of face that Merlin feels strangely attracted to. Oh, not in that way (well, maybe a bit), but he almost thinks he might know him. Perhaps an old classmate he never had much to do with? Maybe he should go over and say hello… with a lurch, the train starts moving again.

“ _I’m sorry for the delay ladies and gentlemen. We have now received permission to pass through Aldgate, so there should be no further interruption to your journey.”_

Who knows – he’s probably just a bit actor that he half-recognises from _Casualty_ or something.

_5\. At a Casting_

Merlin jiggles one leg nervously. He’s in a room with maybe twenty other guys – these aren’t open auditions, but the competition is still stiff. Not to mention this is his biggest break yet; a part on Doctor Who. That’s pretty major.

He glances at his watch. Still another half an hour until his audition. He hadn’t trusted the tube not to break down on him, so he’d left plenty of time to get here. Watching each new hopeful wasn’t helping him get in the right head space for the part of Jethro Cane, though. He could nip out for a minute.

Making his mind up, he fair crashes through the door, suddenly desperate for fresh air. A blonde man is scurrying in as he leaves, and it takes some quick footwork to avoid a collision. The brief glance of his face is almost familiar, but then he’s gone and Merlin is alone gulping down London exhaust fumes. That man will have to tell them he’ll dye his hair – whoever heard of a blonde Goth?

_+1 - The First Merlin Rehearsal_

His agent had laughed when she sent him the script, blank packaging, just a note saying she's got a funny feeling he might be perfect for this one.

_Merlin._

He flips it open, and the words drift and reshape until it isn't make believe, it isn't a script, it's memories, flowing across the page like water – Morgana. He remembers her then, wild and dangerous, but he also knows her now, unfettered by hatred. The two layer over each other in a ball of confused emotion.

And Gwen. Simple, uncomplicated Gwen. His heart swells, glad for their friendship now and glad for her friendship then, too.

Arthur. The missing link. How has he not...?

Oh. But he almost has. Morgana's brother Arthur, the pillock, to borrow her phrase. Merlin thinks (Merlin hopes) he might be more of a prat than a pillock. His hand flies to his phone. He can call Morgana, he can ask to meet him, he can -

His gaze dances back to the script. To the Arthur Pendragon laid out in black ink, and the faint, half-forgotten memory of Morgana complaining her brother had decided to become a thespian, and wasn't it enough that she had to put up with Merlin? She couldn't be surrounded by luvvies, she'd go spare.

He calls his agent back, says he wants the audition, and she relays that he's already got one – not many acting Merlins out there, and the director had been tickled at the thought he could have one in his lead role. To lend a touch of truth to the myth, and the press and fans will love it. The extra publicity is gold dust.

Merlin has never been so glad he changed his name, Merlin Emrys too much of a coincidence. Merlin Alexander can wander in and play it as a joke. He can don the robes of his old life and wince at the historical inaccuracies but he can make a living out of being him again. He hadn't quite realised what he missed until half an hour ago, but now it's like a brand on his chest.

He wants it back.

He wants Gaius – where is Gaius? - and he wants Camelot, and – God, he even wants to ride a horse again. He's never done that in this life, but he  _knows_ how, muscle memory carrying across lifetimes, and he can almost smell the fresh forest rain, and feel the gentle movement of a horse beneath him.

He swallows around a lump in his throat. He wants Arthur.

–

He knows he's setting himself up for a fall. He hadn't called Morgana, wanting the possibility just a little bit longer. That seems stupid, now. He knows they've hired an Arthur Pendragon, but whether that's _Arthur Pendragon_ or someone playing the role, he doesn’t know. And he's about to find out, in the first episode read-through, in a room full of people.

The door opens and his head snaps up, but it's just an old man. Vaguely familiar, he thinks he might have been in one of the soaps his mother watched. But not Gaius, even as he slumps into that chair and settles glasses on his nose.

“Merlin?”

It sends a shiver through him; a voice he's not heard in so long. The intonation is different – tentative where it should be brusque, or teasing. But it's _him._ He looks up...

Into sunshine. It might be a grey day in November, but looking at Arthur has always been like looking at the sun. Even that first day, that day when his blood ran hot in his veins as he goaded the beautiful man with the pretty smile and the cruel streak that needed bringing down a few pegs.

Even then.

“Arthur.”

Arthur holds out a hand, and Merlin shakes it. “Arthur Dubois,” he repeats.

He has to make sure, even as he knows it. It sings in his heart, his magic bubbling and fizzing as it reunites with the other half of the whole. “Morgana's brother?”

Arthur winces. “I don't think she's going to try and kill us this time around.” A pause, and then: “I used... to use Pendragon. Until I disowned my father.”

Merlin smiles. He smiles and smiles and it grows until he's laughing, blessed relief like he's been carrying a bag of rocks on his back his whole life and now, finally, he's let them tumble to the ground. He could fly. He could fly high and take Arthur with him, because Arthur's now only here, he _remembers_ , and -

Arthur crowds into the seat next to him, turned away from the table to look him straight in the eyes. Merlin smothers his laughter, aware it's a bit crazy, and hopes everyone thinks Arthur’s just something of a comedian. It's a vain hope. He knows he looks like a teenager with a crush.

He feels like a teenager with a crush. He doesn't really care.

“Guess they won't need to work too hard on special effects?” Arthur wiggles his fingers.

“Well I probably will let them get on with it,” Merlin hedges. “But no, it wouldn't be necessary.” Arthur just nods at the revelation, as if it's nothing, rather than the ripping confession it was last time.

“Good,” he says, with a decisive nod. His left hand sneaks under the table, nudging at Merlin's thigh, and he snakes down and wraps his own around it. “Good,” Arthur echoes, turning to his script and doing every impression of being absorbed in the words.

“They've got a lot wrong.”

“Yeah?”

“They've got a lot right.” He squeezes his fingers, watching Arthur closely and seeing his breath hitch. It's impractical, but now he's holding on he doesn’t want to ever let go. He's lived a lifetime without Arthur – he's lived years and years on the edges of him, never crossing, the _time_ they've missed.

“Really? That's progressive.”

Merlin laughs. He likes how they're still the same, still fitting together like complicated puzzle pieces that can speak in their own language. “Not quite. But... some of it is suggestive.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Well. I think we have a duty to tell the real story, don't you?”

Merlin looks around at the assembled cast. No more familiar faces, and there's something weird about strangers playing the roles of his friends. He wonders if they'll bring in Gwaine and Lancelot, Kay and Elyan – where the real ones are, if he's just missed them or if they're out there somewhere, waiting to be found.

He hopes they are, but he doesn't need them. He's got Arthur, and Morgana and Gwen, and he feels stood on the edge of something huge. Something great, that will shape this life like it shaped the last one. The real story. He grins.

“Absolutely.”

**Author's Note:**

> 'Alexander' (Merlin's new surname) means 'defender of men', which I thought quite apt for his role at Arthur's side, keeping him alive. 'Dubois' (Arthur's new surname) I thought was a translation of something to do with dragons, but I've looked it up again and apparently it means woodcutter, so I don't know what I was thinking there! Let's just assume Arthur put very little thought into it.


End file.
